everything, everywhere | azure/ines

On the first day, I’d overslept.

I hadn’t meant to, of course. But I’d lain awake in my bed for hours, stuck listening to Marcus’ shallow breaths, envious of his unconsciousness. Thinking about home and how I’d likely never see it again. Thinking about Nekane and how she was probably enjoying an empty house. Thinking about the coincidence of the mayor’s daughter being Reaped the first year of her term.

Thinking about Yani, always. Glad she was safe. There’s a small comfort in the bleakness of my room.

Sleep came eventually. One of the girls I met in the orphanage told me her trick for falling asleep was to try and remember the last thing you thought of the night before. On nights like last night, I try it out, though I don’t really know if it works or not. I only know that when I woke up again it was well into the afternoon, and it would have been utterly mortifying to show my face so late in the day. So I stayed in my room, nibbling on the food from the minibar and letting my anxiety paralyse me into a state of immobility.

On the second day, I’m up before the sun. I’m the first in the Training Centre, desperate to make up for lost time. It’s overwhelming to look around and see all the things I’m supposed to learn. I don’t want to fight, but I want to survive; the two cannot exist independently. So I play the game laid out in front of me like an obedient puppy.

The plants station beckons to me, scents of home wafting through the air. But I don’t want to play it safe. I need to learn the things I don’t know.

The table next to it houses a combination of both crude and primitive materials for making traps. I steer clear of the pointed metallic shards and reach for the bundles of rope instead, feeling the coarse fibres scratch against my soft skin as it slides through my palms.

In theory, starting with something I knew absolutely nothing about when nobody else was around seemed like a good idea – there’d be no room for embarrassment that way. But I realise very quickly that if I want to learn, I can’t do it alone.

After about ten minutes of struggling to tie even the most basic of knots, I hear the first footsteps of the day approaching. Instinct tells me to drop the rope and pick up a bundle of plants instead – to stroke the greenery and feel comforted in the knowledge that I’m not a complete failure. But I think it’s the sleep deprivation that causes me to turn around and look desperately over my shoulder at a girl I haven’t seen before. I don’t even bother to mask my frustration at the rope in my hands.

“They make it look so easy on TV,” I grumble to the girl, to myself. I hold out the rope to her with hopeful eyes, pleading for her to take pity on me and put me out of my misery.